


Be Mine

by nhpw



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Abuse of candy conversation hearts, Fluff, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, Making Up, Multi, Polyamory, Romantic Fluff, pies to the face
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 10:32:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6002566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a first-time director, Misha has a lot on his plate, and Jared and Jensen aren’t making it any easier. When they cross a line with a couple of pies to the face, Misha takes it personally and explains to Jensen exactly why he should have known better.</p><p>(Set the week of Valentine's Day 2014, during the filming of 9.17 "Mother's Little Helper.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Cockles Cooperative Valentine's Day challenge. Meant to be set in an “established polyamory” setting - fairly new, but established. The wives are mentioned and the intended implication is that all four of them have a relationship. However the story hinges on the fact that they’re separated from their ladies on Valentine’s Day, so they’re not really *in* the story, but they are *part* of the story, and everything that happens is intended to be consensual on all fronts; nothing that happens is without the consent or knowledge of other parties, present or not.
> 
> The face-pieing incident is infamous in the fandom, but if you haven't seen it, a video (including a screenshot of Misha's tweet following the incident) can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pz1wQObgS1w
> 
> I'm totally serious about that "abuse of candy conversation hearts" tag. :D Happy Valentine's Day!

What he said for the cameras was, “They are not my friends,” with a smile on his face and an only slightly perturbed tone to his voice before charging at Jensen in an attempt to tackle as much fresh whipped cream onto the other man as possible. It was a completely acceptable and YouTube-worthy response from someone who’d just been pied in the face - twice.

But he wasn’t himself after that, and Jensen noticed. Little things carried through the rest of the evening - a tightness in his voice when giving direction, especially to Jensen. A move toward curt professionalism in place of their usual camaraderie. And, after the second pie and a second unexpected wardrobe change, he tucked in his shirt.  _ Why? _ It just wasn’t a thing Misha did. Like… ever.

“Misha seem a little off to you?”

Jared gave a half-shrug and plopped into his chair, taking a swig from his water bottle and crossing his legs as Jensen settled into his adjacent seat. “About as off as any first-time director. Remember your first go? You were a fucking wreck.”

“I guess.” But he couldn’t sit still. He fidgeted with the cap of his own water bottle so much that he dropped it and it landed with a plastic clatter on the cement floor of the bunker set.

“Something definitely a little off about  _ you _ right now, though.”

“ _ Your face _ is a little off right now.”

“ _ Your mom  _ is a little off right now. “

Jensen sighed and boosted back out of his chair to retrieve the cap, screwing it back on his bottle, which he then tossed behind him into the chair before venturing off in search of Misha.

He wasn’t hard to find.

They were shooting exclusively on the bunker sets today, so that limited the possibilities. And Misha was, in fact, busy, in a Director sort of way that Jensen could appreciate. So rather than interrupt, he leaned against a prop wall at its joint, crossed his ankles and watched the man work.

_ God, he’s beautiful when he’s focused. _

The thought came along with a slow, closed-mouth smile that didn’t spread very far across his face and yet somehow reached all the way to his eyes. He felt frozen on that spot, compelled to stand back and watch Misha work. Jared was wrong, Jensen realized - Misha wasn’t stressed about directing, wasn’t off-kilter or exhausted. The role fit him like a tailored jacket, and looked just as good.

_ You’re staring, you ass. _

But he couldn’t help it. Misha was talking to a camerawoman, miming out a vision with his hands - beautiful, fluent, flowing gestures, like he was dancing. Jensen furrowed his brow and bade his ears to perk up, and if he strained he could catch snippets of Misha’s direction over the background din of production noise.

“...On Jensen...bottle. Tight to his face, I mean, don’t hold back. You… emotion will pour out of him. Get that. Get all of that, and stay with the shot…”

He’d heard thousands of conversations like this on set in the past 9 years; hell, he’d been at the helm of some of them himself. But hearing the language pour out of Misha, hearing his voice, passion for the art radiating from every pour of his body… Jensen was so mystified, he got lost in it. Lost himself, lost time, lost track of where he was and what he was supposed to be doing to the point that he didn’t even notice Jared crossing the floor until the younger man kicked at his foot and he lost his balance.

“You. Asshole.”

“Oh, what, you’re upset that I caught you staring at your boyfriend?”

Jensen could’ve filed a verbal complaint; he could have submitted a witty retort or straight-up denial, but there was no point in it. Jared knew the whole story, and Jensen knew he’d been caught red-handed. So instead he just shrugged and raised his eyebrows appreciatively. “Just admiring the view is all.”

And the way Jared gagged and doubled over was as good a break in the tension as any.

They worked another two hours; this was the only day of production on 917 that Jared and Jensen were both on set, and although they had a grand total of two scenes together in the entire episode, both had to be finished today.

_ “You were right.” _

_ “About what?” _

_ “Finding Abaddon ASAP. She’s mining souls.” _

_ “Why?” _

_ “To create an army.” _

The lines came off flawlessly,  _ finally _ , at a tenor and pace that satisfied Misha, and both Jared and Jensen kept up their mime of research waiting for the word.

“Cut! Print!” Misha ducked back into the light and clapped his hands. “Wrap for tonight, everybody. Great job today. Go on home, get some rest, see you all tomorrow.”

Cast and crew started to break apart, and Jensen felt a tap on his arm from Jared, who waved goodnight with a small smile once he had Jensen’s attention. “‘Night man.”

“G’night, brother. Oh hey.” Jensen held up one index finger to indicate an ask for pause. “Don’t, um. Tomorrow, don’t give him too much shit, OK? He worked really hard for this. It means a lot to him.”

“Seriously? Seriously. You want me to lay off.”

“Maybe for like one whole day. He’s just got you tomorrow, right? Then Mark and me on Friday. Cut him some slack.”

“OK but, uh.” Jared started giggling, and Jensen rolled his eyes and shook his head because obviously he’d missed something.

“What?”

“I gotta go put the seat back in his director’s chair.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Aww… but you love me. You know it.”

“Fine, fine. Put the seat back. Christ on a cracker, I swear…” the curses came out mumbled, and a few additional ones remained under his breath as he left the set for his trailer, but on the way, he pulled out his phone and index-finger plunked a text to Misha.

_ Wanna talk _ ?

The lack of immediate response wasn’t surprising.

The lack of any response by the time Jensen was out of wardrobe, out of makeup and ready to head home… that was more than surprising. It was unsettling.

Just outside his trailer, he fished his phone out of the pocket of his track pants and pulled up messenger again… then thought better of it and hit the “call” button instead.

The clenching in his stomach eased just a bit when Misha answered on the third ring. “Hey.” He sounded gravelly, tired… like Castiel, except he wasn’t playing Castiel this week, so the clenching in Jensen’s gut settled back into place.

“Hey. You all right? Want a, uh. Nightcap?” For lack of a better word. He was still in public, and words like  _ cuddle  _ or  _ kiss _ or  _ blowjob _ might fall accidentally on unwitting ears.

“No thanks. ‘M pretty tired, gotta be here early tomorrow. Gonna just head home.” It was too clipped, too impersonal, like it would have been Misha’s canned response regardless of what Jensen might have said.

“Bullshit.” Because Misha had always said  _ call me out on my ridiculous bullshit _ and Jensen was a big fan of being direct. “You got somethin’ on your mind, so spill it.”

There was a heavy sigh and equally heavy draw of breath on the other end of the line. “Fine. But I meant it, I am tired, and I’m sick of being here today. Meet me at my place. I’ll be right behind you.”

Misha hung up without saying goodbye, and Jensen found himself staring down at the phone in his hand, feeling like he was ten steps behind Misha in some bizarre game of strategy, where the instructions had been handed out in Misha-ese. He needed a translator, and the only person who could fill that role was Misha Collins himself.

***

Jensen had time to let himself into Misha’s house, collect a beer from the fridge and settle onto the couch, feet up on the coffee table, half of his beer gone before the knob turned on the front door and Misha entered.

“Hey.”

There was no response, and in fact, Misha barely spared him a look over the shoulder as he toed off his shoes and shook off his overcoat. He took measured steps to the front closet and meticulously selected a single wooden hanger before shrugging the coat onto it and putting it into the mix amongst the others.

Jensen watched him quietly all the while. Sometimes Misha was like this - careful, measured, overly calm. But Jensen was no fool. That much calm didn’t fit Misha any better than an overcoat would fit a raging bull. Misha was anything but calm.

He was a volcano about to erupt.

So Jensen waited, because saying the wrong thing at a moment like this could spell disaster. He continued to watch Misha’s movements, continued to sip at his beer.

After an eternity, Misha spoke. He turned toward Jensen, then took three slow steps to come up to the back of the couch, which he white-knuckled on either side of his body. “Did you know,” he began, voice eerily level, eyes boring into the off-white fabric of the couch, “that the world record for the largest group kiss was set on Valentine’s Day in 2010?”

Jensen wanted a knife to cut the tension, but he aimed for humor instead. “In your bedroom?”

At that, Misha turned away roughly and brought up his right hand in a fist, hitting it lengthwise into the adjacent wall. Jensen’s eyes went wide at that - he’d made the first crack in the ground, letting lava bubble up to greet air at the surface. “In Mexico City,” Misha replied, much too quietly for Jensen’s liking, and returned to his previous position, gripping the back of the couch. “Almost 40,000 people. And you know, I don’t ask for that. I don’t  _ need _ that. I just need to know I have the love and affections and  _ respect _ of the people I call  _ mine _ .” At the emphasized word, he met Jensen’s eyes for the first time, showing nothing but fire and cold-steel blue. His biceps flexed as he squeezed the back of the couch. “That they will accept me, support me, love and care for me, and treat me well. That they’ll put as much value and trust in me as I do in them. So you’ll understand my trepidations about coming anywhere near you after what happened on set today.”

He pushed off the back of the couch again and stalked away into the kitchen without another word, and Jensen buried his head in his hands because…  _ fuck _ . He’d fucked up.

“Misha…” he called, but there was no verbal response - just the soft sound of Misha’s socked feet as he padded around the kitchen. “Fuuuck. Misha, I’m…” He pushed up off the couch and rubbed at his own face, trying to push out the mental exhaustion that threatened to ride in from the bottom of his empty beer bottle and 12 hours of work. “I’m sorry.”

“Twice.  _ Twice _ !” Molten lava bubbled up and over the crust of Mount Misha, and Misha slammed the refrigerator door with excessive force, glaring bullets at Jensen. “You  _ know _ what this means to me, Jen. You  _ know _ how hard I’m working.”

“It was Jared’s--” he stopped the sentence before it was finished, but the damage was done.

“You. Should. Have. Known. Better.” Each word was punctuated by the rough shove of Misha’s right index finger into Jensen’s chest. “Because you’re more mature. Because you’ve been at the helm and you  _ know _ how much work it is.  _ Because we fucking sleep together _ . For a million reasons, you should have known better.”

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right, man. I’m-- Misha, it’s-- I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well.” Misha being Misha, he took a quiet moment looking at the floor to digest the apology, and his shoulders relaxed just a little after a single deep breath.

“What you said-- just now.” Jensen’s voice was quiet, partly out of genuine regret for the pie incident, but partly because his brain was just now catching up with everything that had been said in the minutes since Misha returned home. “About  _ the people you call yours _ . I’ve never thought-- I mean. I guess I never considered myself…  _ belonging _ to you that way.”

“Great.” Misha was still staring at the tiled floor, and at Jensen’s words he brought a hand to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose while squeezing his eyes shut so tightly they wrinkled visibly at the corners. “So not only did you embarrass me on set, now you’re going to do it in my own home, too. Fucking fantastic.” He paced with hard, quick steps out of the kitchen, around a corner and back toward his bedroom, and Jensen followed like a spooked pup. If he’d had a tail, it would’ve been between his legs.

At his bedroom door, Misha rounded on Jensen. “You should just leave.”

“No.”

“You want me to throw you out? Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m not leaving.” Against all his better judgment, he stepped closer to Misha - one step, then two, then a third, and he was in the other man’s personal space bubble.

“Don’t touch me.” Dangerous. Low. The volcano’s not finished, not by a longshot, and the city below - Jensenville - ought to be a little bit more concerned about where the river of lava might be headed. Misha flinched away. “I said don’t. Touch. You do not. Have. My consent.”

Too close.

Jensen had dipped his toes in the lava just to see how it felt, and sure enough, he’d been burned. He pulled back, even stepped back, but he implored Misha with his eyes as he tried with words rather than physical contact. “Will you just listen to me for one second? I get that I don’t deserve it after today. I get that you’re pissed, and yeah, you have every right to be. You’re right, I should have known better and I’m sorry. But out of all that emotion, Mish, you said one thing… one thing you’ve never said before. I mean, you implied it, but still. You’ve never…” he watched as his tone, just shy of begging, combined with the right words to bring a softness to Misha’s eyes for the first time all evening. “You’ve never laid claim to me before. I mean, hugs, kisses, fucks, whatever…” he threw his hands out to either side, as if to lay bare his abdomen - the most vulnerable part of his body - in a show of openness and trust. “You’ve never said that before. That I’m  _ yours _ .”

“I guess I thought it was implied in our arrangement.” The volcano was coming to a calm; there might still have been a fierceness to it, but the lava was no longer such a threatening shade of orange.

Jensen could only shrug at that, arms still held outstretched and a soft chuckle bubbling up from his chest. “I have no idea. Did I not warn you at the outset this is all completely new to me?”

Misha sighed and gave Jensen a long look and a tiny half smile. He didn’t approach for affections, but he did hold the door open, allowing Jensen entry, and the two of them sat parallel at the foot of Misha’s unmade bed. Back to their state of affairs from Misha’s initial entry into his home that evening, Jensen stared at knitted hands in his lap and waited for Misha to speak.

“I’m used to having people around on Valentine’s Day.” It was so far from where he expected the conversation to begin that Jensen jerked his head up to look at MIsha with a knitted brow. “No, I… I know. Let me--” Misha threw his hands up in exasperation. “It’s important to me, OK? I know, I know, it’s a manufactured holiday, created by the greeting card industry to make us buy stuff and by all means a person like me should hate it. And I do, sort of. Except not really. I… I like to show my affections, obviously.” He shrugged helplessly. “And to have them shown to me by others. Call it ego-stroking, call it whatever, but I… like being able to take care of Vicki - and any other partners I might have - on that day. And I like when they return the favor. And this year… this year I’m working. I can’t even negotiate on that, because I’m at the helm. I’ll be busy all damn day. Best I can hope for is Facetime with Vicki and maybe a card in the mailbox when I finally get home.”

Jensen waited a moment, but it seemed Misha had reached the end of his monologue, so he nodded his head, giving himself a moment to digest everything the man had said. “Well,” he said, still weighing his response options, until he realized he was overthinking it. He was talking to a lover who was upset. A lover who had just called him  _ mine _ and who was upset. “Danneel does single red roses. She’ll send you one, and probably Vick, too. Mark my words. Every friggin’ year, wherever we are, whatever we’re doing, that thing finds its way to me by midday. And if she doesn’t, I’ll get you one myself.”

“Every single year?”

“I shit you not.”

“Cute.”

“But predictable. I was actually sort of hoping that with this…” He licked his lips and bopped his head on the word.  _ Polyamory _ was still a mouthful he couldn’t quite work his brain around. “With  _ this _ , that we might finally get some shakeup.” He chanced setting the flat palm of his left hand on Misha’s right thigh, and was satisfied that the other man smiled at the touch. “And  _ if you’ll recall _ , we’ll be on set together that day.  _ Without Jared _ .”

“Mmmm… that’s right. I do remember scheduling that… sort of on purpose.” Misha laughed then, looking first at his hands in his lap, and then crosswise at Jensen. When he spoke again, his voice was more of what Jensen had been hoping for at the end of this very long day: soft, just shy of seductive. “You should go home. It’s late.”

“You don’t really mean that.”

“No, I don’t. But you should anyway.” By the close of his sentence, Jensen could feel Misha’s breath against his lips.

“Did you mean it? When you said I was yours?”

“You…” A peck to Jensen’s lips, “Danneel…” Another, softer and longer than the first, “And Vicki. I know we’re all grown-ups here, all agreed about sharing all of the responsibility, but I’m always a bit more Alpha than maybe I ought to be in a poly pod. I am protective and doting by nature, and you…” he gave in and closed the gap between their lips altogether at that point, pressing soft and yielding into Jensen as his arms came around the younger man’s waist. His final words were breathy as he guided both of them to the bed in tandem, his body covering Jensen’s, “Are just going to have to learn to deal with it. You’re mine now.” A bit of a primal nip at Jensen’s neck as a warning, and then he dove into the spot.

“Mmmmfff… Fine.” But Jensen rolled them, pinning Misha beneath him and breaking the kiss, “Yours. But only if you’re mine right back.”

“Hmmm…” Misha looked wistful, in contrast to the quickly heating moment. “ _ Yours _ . I’ve never… been another man’s ‘yours’ you know.”

“I think you’ll find it has its advantages.” Jensen swallowed any further comments or reflections with a tonsil-searching kiss. He held it as long as it took for Misha to melt beneath him, and then let it fade to a soft exploration with his hands and mouth that let him bestow reverence and attention on Misha.  _ Mine _ .

He couldn’t be sure Misha truly believed it, or understood what it meant. And so across the wee hours of the morning, as they made a sweaty tangle of their limbs and misplaced kisses and purposeful touches, Jensen’s mind churned out a plan to change that.

They were lovers. A “poly pod,” as Misha said. They’d done all kinds of things Jensen had only thought possible in porn until a few years ago. And yet, there were loose strings about what they were, truly, to one another. And that settled it, Jensen decided. This Valentine’s Day, Misha Collins would know what it felt like to be his.

***

Jensen only had one day - not even enough time to rush-order what he needed, so he had to do it all manually. He woke up Thursday morning with Misha, dropped the older man at the set, then went home to shower and change.

Then he got to work.

***

Misha could see the rose threaded through the latch on his trailer as he returned to the quiet space for lunch on Friday. He smiled tenderly at it and used careful fingers to pull it out without doing damage to the petals, even when it meant a poke of a thorn to his right pointer finger. Upon freeing the flower, he held the stem carefully between his thumb and the injured finger and lifted the rose up for an inhale of the bouquet.

He noticed the note - attached just below the half-bloom with a single thread - as he lowered the flower, and shifted the rose to his left hand so he could palm the small card in his right.

 

_ Mish, _

_ Congratulations, Director - and Happy Valentine’s Day. I’m so proud of you! _

_ XOXO, _

_ D.H.A _

 

He had to close his eyes and inhale the flower’s bouquet again just to collect himself enough so the tears wouldn’t fall. A few beats of meditative silence and he skipped up the steps into his trailer.

He was fishing into his back pocket for his phone to call Vicki, so he didn’t see Jensen’s gift right away. In fact, he had already thumbed up his wife’s number and pressed the phone to his ear by the time he looked up enough to see it: A single glass bowl, filled to the brim with colorful candy hearts, adjacent to a vase holding two red roses.

As he listened to the ring and waited for his wife - or her voicemail - to pick up, Misha stepped slowly up to the kitchenette counter, added Danneel’s rose to the vase, and set his palms flat on the marble on either side of the bowl to examine the candy inside. They were big and small; they were pink, green, purple, yellow and white; they were clearly from at least three different brands, some of them shiny and promising a sour taste, others the standard chalky look and feel. But as he rifled reverent fingers through the bowl of conversation hearts, he could see they all said the exact same thing.

_ Be mine. _

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Love.”

The music of his wife’s voice brought Misha out of his reverie, but only just - he was holding a large white heart in his left palm, message side up, running his thumb over the words as though to imprint them on his skin. “Happy… Valentine’s Day,” he murmured.

Her laughter, bright like sunshine, bubbled up into his ear as he continued to stare into the candy bowl. He dropped the large white heart and picked up three smaller ones, laying them in a line across his palm and running his thumb over the text of each one.

_ Be mine. Be mine. Be mine. _

“Penny for your thoughts, Mishka?”

“Hmm.” He sighed and finally turned away from the bowl, tilting his eyes heavenward. The roses… the candy… this phone call. All at once, it warmed him so much that this time, he couldn’t stop the tears from falling. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Hey. You OK? You sound not so much like yourself.”

“I think… yes. I’m OK. I’m better than OK. I’m in love. Absolutely in love.” He started to chuckle, and then to full-on laugh, and he spun a circle on the heel of his shoe in the middle of his trailer’s kitchenette, eyes still on the ceiling.

“And clearly driven insane by the weight of it,” she quipped, but then she was joining his laughter from across the miles, and that was all that mattered. “Did you get Dani’s rose?”

“I did. And Jensen’s-- gift-- this is just. Incredible, Vicki. Hang on.” He pulled his phone back enough to take a picture of the arrangement, then a close-up of several candy hearts on his palm, and sent both pictures to his wife.

“Three roses?”

“There were two. I added the one from Danneel and--” A knock at his trailer door interrupted his train of thought and he wandered over to see Jensen standing outside, sheepishly holding a single red rose in his hand. “Can I call you back?”

“He’s there, isn’t he?”

“I love you.”

“Love you both right back. Give him a kiss for me.”

Misha ended the call and opened the door in a swift dual motion, and Jensen stepped into his trailer, walking in careful strides toward the vase.

“Good,” he said, more to himself than to Misha, and nodded when he saw the vase. “I was worried you wouldn’t play your part.”

“I’d probably do a better job of that if I had a copy of the script.”

“Hmm.” Jensen was grinning ear to ear, and he shot Misha a single meaningful look with twinkling eyes before turning back to the vase and purposefully sliding his rose in alongside the others. “No, you improvised perfectly.” Motion completed, he nodded at the vase, then picked it up with the same amount of purpose and presented it to Misha with outstretched arms.

Misha accepted the vase, but when his eyes met the other man’s, he couldn’t help the confusion that creased his brow. “Um. Thanks?”

“Four roses.” Jensen’s hopeful tone was barely above a whisper. He was trying to make a point without having to explain it; he hoped their bond was strong enough that Misha would simply  _ get it _ .

“You want me to cry again, don’t you? Because I’m going to cry again.”

“Can I kiss you instead?”

“Always, Jen. Always.” Misha barely had time to set the vase back on his counter before Jensen was consuming him, kissing deep and searching and pushing him back into his recliner with an urgency Misha had never seen from the man.

“Mine,” Jensen breathed into his ear before nipping at the lobe and going to work on his neck, very quickly turning Misha’s brain off and his insides to mush, and he forgot to be emotional. “ _ Mine _ .”

“Yours.”

At that, Jensen pulled back and smiled against Misha’s mouth. He opened his eyes and stared at Misha as he said, “Feels good, doesn’t it? To belong to someone?”

“Feels like…”

“Flying?” A peck on the lips.

“Falling.” An identical peck back.

“A free fall?” Jensen’s breathing was heavy as he leaned his forehead against Misha’s.

“A trust fall.” Misha tilted up enough to capture Jensen’s lips, but the younger man broke the kiss after only a moment.

“I’m really, really sorry about the pies.”

“Baby, we are so far past the pies.”

Jensen’s reply was a dark chuckle and a twinkle in his eyes. “You just called me ‘Baby.’”

“Get used to it.”

“ _ You _ get used to it.” Their lips came together again and again in between giggles and chuckles and Jensen settling more comfortably into a straddled position over Misha’s lap.

Misha made an attempt to deepen the kiss, sending his tongue on an exploratory mission in Jensen’s mouth - and Jensen let him for just a moment before breaking the kiss and dissolving in abashed chuckles.

“What?” Misha laughed in turn, smiling up at the beautiful man still poised comfortably against him and above him.

“I was just thinking…”

“Why are you thinking when I’m trying to make out with you?”

“I was just thinking that I, uh, sort of don’t want to have sex with you right now.” At Misha’s single arched eyebrow, he elaborated, “I mean, I want to  _ be here _ with you, obviously, or I wouldn’t be sitting in your lap. But what I really want to do? What I really want to do…” He moved off of Misha’s lap and stepped back to the kitchenette momentarily, grabbing the glass bowl of candy hearts. “What I really want to do is sit here with you for an hour and feed you these.” To demonstrate, he held out a small green heart and pushed it into Misha’s mouth with his thumb.

Misha accepted the candy and sucked on the thumb, delighted by Jensen’s closed eyes and hissing breath in response. He smiled around the digit and ran his tongue around the nail, only letting go when he felt Jensen tense and shiver. “I’m kind of disappointed that none of those hearts say ‘fuck me’.”

“I was trying to make a point.”

“I know.” He watched as Jensen reached into the bowl and retrieved another heart and showed Misha the text right at eye level before popping the candy into his own mouth. “Hey! My boyfriend gave me those!”

“I know.” Jensen leaned in and incited Misha’s tongue to dance, and in this way he fed him the second heart - tongue to tongue. For one perfect moment they sucked on it together before Jensen pulled away.

“Your eyes say you want more than kisses.” Misha chanced reaching out for the hem of Jensen’s shirt and was delighted when he wasn’t turned away. He stripped away the flannel, then the undershirt, and let his hands wander over Jensen’s chest. “I love the way you shiver when I touch you like this… slow… light…”

“Tease…” Jensen gritted out even as he reached for another candy heart and handed it to Misha, who in turn put the sweet in the crook of Jensen’s neck and leaned up to collect it with a lavish swath of his tongue.

“Mmmm…”

“ _ Mine _ .” Misha threw his weight forward, spilling them both off the recliner and onto the floor, Misha on top, and before Jensen could protest, Misha grabbed a handful of hearts and shoved them into his own mouth, then leaned down for a kiss, holding Jensen’s open mouth to his own as the sour-sweet mix of the candies tangled and swayed from one man to the other and back again.

When only their tongues were left dancing, Jensen gave a thrust of weight and rolled them to put himself back on top. “Mine.” He pinned Misha’s hands above his head and slipped a candy into the older man’s mouth with two fingers. “Mine,” he repeated when the first candy was gone and Misha opened his mouth instinctively, and Jensen repeated the feeding again. And so it went in a steady string, one candy after another, until Misha relaxed underneath him - “Mine.” Candy. “Mine.” Candy. “Mine.”

“OK. Yours,” Misha finally grunted weakly. “Kiss me, please?”

Jensen laughed victoriously and covered Misha’s body with his own, abandoned the candy hearts and lost himself in a reverent worship of Misha - Misha, who cared about everyone around him. Misha, who considered Jensen and Danneel part of his lion pride, worthy of protection and care. Misha, who deserved to have affection bestowed upon him every second of every day and it still wouldn’t be enough. Misha, who deserved to belong to someone… or several someones.

And that? That Jensen could definitely do.


End file.
